[SelzShoes]

“What is wrong Temple? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost?” the question dripped with mock concern. In many ways though, William Temple had just gazed upon a dead man.

Raleigh Bourne. Almost 3 years earlier approved as the primary investor of the Hartford franchise, and almost as quickly laid out a plan assuring Mick Avery of Boston and William Temple of New York would buy his interest. The deal was kept secret, to prevent McCormick from trying tip the balance of power. However; events of the past two seasons had achieved McCormick’s wish of control, but Avery and Temple were convinced they could keep the Chicagoan at bay with three solid votes in opposition to the President. They did not count on the depths of McCormick’s determination to end any impediment to him dictating his will.

The President stood slowly measuring every inch of his rival’s reaction. “You would be surprised what those Pinkertons can find when they put their mind to it. Out in Arizona Territory he was. Arizona! For the past three years! Leaves many a mysteries still in the air, does it not, Mr. Temple?”

Avery returned to the room from the privy, wiping vomit from his mouth. Temple’s hand reached to the breast pocket where the forged letter of proxy rested. McCormick’s steps toward the conspirators were deliberate allowing the gathered to turn the spectacle over and over.

“We are beaten,” Avery spoke softly to Temple. “We are at his mercy.”

McCormick gestured grandly towards Bourne, “Why don’t you share you story, Mr. Bourne? I am positive the owners here would be interested to know how our two eastern friends came to represent your interest so passionately.” Of course, Bourne had shared his story twice already—once in private to McCormick and a second time to the other Empire owners. The motive was not disclosure, but humiliation.

Temple blood began to boil as Bourne related how, realizing he could not afford the upkeep of professional club, he devised a way to “make a profit of the matter.” The rage grew and grew as the shiftless man from Connecticut revealed how the fear of McCormick was twisted into a secret buyout. The rage was not directed at Bourne but at the Chicagoan who could not control his laughing at the matter.

“So,” McCormick asked between chortles, “they paid good money for a club you had no intention of fielding?”

“That is correct.”

“And if they had waited a month or so, you would have been forced to sell—legitimately—to someone else? Someone from Hartford perhaps?”

“More than likely, Mr. McCormick.”

“A fraud for no reason, what do you think of that Temple?”

Temple bit his lip trying to keep control of his temper. “You’ve had your fun. Now let’s get on with the real business of this meeting,” the words pushed through his clinched teeth.

“Well, I am the President. I thought I decided what is necessary to discuss and deal with at this gathering,” the good humor of a moment ago had left his voice. He stood overdramatically, Temple and the rest braced for the speech.

McCormick had developed the habit on “Very Important Matters” of delivering the same speech about being the shepherd of the game. The particulars would change to fit the situation, but the preamble and conclusion where always the same.

“We have a public trust as the shepherds of baseball. To conduct our business above board, to assure fair play and to carry ourselves in a manner befitting the Grand American Game. . .”

“Just tell us what the fine is you blowhard and get on with it! You have had your fun, now get on with it,” Temple was in no mood for theatrics. “If we are in endgame, call ‘mate.’ Do not waste my time with your useless words.”

McCormick paused and looked daggers at the New Yorker. Part of the show was making the moment last, watching Temple and his New York money squirm, wondering what would become of him and his club. McCormick felt no need to end his victory speech any sooner than pride demanded. It was clear though Temple would not allow a man savor his rightful moment. If dramatics were not allowed, then cold reality would rule.

“Mr. Bourne, since you have already sold your interest in the Hartford club, we have no need for you anymore. The Hartford franchise is hereby dissolved for lack of a legitimate owner.” McCormick turned to Avery, who appeared on the brink of vomiting again. “Mr. Avery,” the Bostonian managed to gesture futility, “how soon can you have an appropriate buyer in place for your club.”

Avery lifted his head and nodded. “The Hartford situation made it impossible to sell, but I have had inquires. I shall direct them to contact you for approval.” He no longer appeared a man defeated; the weight of his secrets and debt finally lifted.

“So that is my fate, sell the New Yorks to one of your cronies? Eh, McCormick.”

“The New York franchise is hereby dissolved for you acts of fraud.”

Not even Temple’s rage made a sound. Someone finally gasped, “Good Lord,” breaking the silence.

“Avery was lead astray by this contentious bastard. Temple was the source of corruption and deserves to face a stiffer penalty.” The explanation came for the unasked question on everyone’s mind. “Besides, the success of the Bostons makes it very difficult to turn them out.”

Temple pounded the table, causing the gathered to recoil, “You NEED a team in New York! YOU CAN NOT DO THIS TO ME!”

“Clause 2.5 of the Constitution: In the best interest of the game, the President may take action on any matter not covered by the Constitution or Official League Rules, as he sees fit. I see fit to dissolve your club and permanently ban you from any association with the Empire League. Fraud on this grand a scale must be dealt with swiftly and forcefully. We have a club in Brooklyn, sharing a field with our former ‘New York’ club; I feel that is sufficient for our League’s profile in the area. With Hartford out, we must have an even number of clubs, and it is much easier to take yours away than find another owner.”

“I shall sue,” Temple began ranting, shouting accusations at all gathered; telling how much they would owe for his indiscretion.

“Yes, let us go to court! Let your business partners and associates wonder what frauds you engage in with them. Let us know how base your soul.”

Temple turned from the President to the other owners, “Don’t you see what he is doing? If he can take my club, he can take yours.”

“You can override my decision with a ¾ vote; I’ll even allow you Boston and Hartford’s votes. Do you honestly think 5 of them will side with you?”

The formerly imposing man refused to beg and plead; quickly he saw it was to no purpose. Quietly, he gathered his items and staggered to the door. “You have not heard the last of this McCormick. If it is war you want, it is war you shall have.”

The room collectively exhaled when the New Yorker left. “Thank God, we can get back to normal business,” Chesterfield sighed.

But the President did not move. His eyes coursed over the remaining owners. “Do you know why you elected me President of this league?” For a second time, the room fell silent. “Do you?”

“Because you wanted it?” stammered Goethe of Saint Louis.

Distaste filled to his eyes as McCormick rose. “I am President, because other than Hamilton, you are all followers. None of you are a leader of men. None of you could make the decisions I make.” The men shifted nervously in there hardback chairs. “Hamilton’s secretary is more a leader than any of you. You would let Temple and his ilk run roughshod over what we are building in a vain attempt to curry favor with the men who do lead. Without me, Temple would be ruining your investments and you would smile at him while you trod to the poorhouse.”

“That’s uncalled,” Chesterfield of Cleveland objected. “How did we become successes if we are not leaders.”

“Being born to money does not a leader make. Of all of us, only Hamilton has made himself into what he is today, the rest of us are an accident of birth.” McCormick could see the faces which moments ago had hailed him were now on the brink of revolt. “Do you doubt me?” The owners tried to hide their nods. “Very well: there are eight of us now. If six of you are leaders, you can remove me from my position.”

“I’m with you,” shouted Obie McCormick

“And I too,” said Hamilton.

“So, I give you Boston’s vote. Now, who will cast the first vote of no confidence? Which one of you will lead the way?”

In less than a minute, they had all casts a vote of support for President McCormick. “Very well,” triumphantly he returned to his chair, “we have business to attend.”